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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195376">the greatest tragedy of them all (is never to feel the burning light)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unstable_grad/pseuds/unstable_grad'>unstable_grad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Attempted Major Character Murder, Bathtubs, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Journalist Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Nonbinary Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Recreational Drug Use, This is inspired by the bathtub scene in Batman versus Superman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unstable_grad/pseuds/unstable_grad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> We, as a population on this planet, have been looking for a savior. Ninety percent of people believe in a higher power. And every religion believes in some sort messianic figure. And when these savior characters actually exist, we want to make them abide by our rules? </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Is it really surprising that the most powerful people in the world should be figures of controversy?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The fact is, maybe they’re not some sort of devil or Jesus characters. Maybe they’re just people trying to do the right thing. <i></i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>*A superhero/journalist AU*</i>
  </i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trans Characters in The Witcher Universe</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the greatest tragedy of them all (is never to feel the burning light)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ah shit, here we go again (stoner!enby!jaskier anyone??)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The smoke spills lazily from ruby red lips as Jaskier reclines in the bathtub, their head resting on the edge, a book for their article propped on the lip of the porcelain and a joint dangling precariously from two calloused fingertips. The water laps peacefully at their overheated skin as chamomile and lavender place kisses along their shoulder blades and caress lithe hips and waist underneath the silken bubbles. The faucet emanates a hollow dripping sound as the drips hit the water and create tiny whirlpools that swirl amongst the scented oil and their body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their fingers smooth over the ridges of the bullet as they lounge, pulled from the cavernous pages of their interviewing journal; a smooth hole on one end and a traitorous gaping maw in between ink stained paper on the other. Only a few pages and a leather-bound back had shielded their heart from the death grip of the bullet and as they turn the bullet over in their fingers and rotate the small steel grooves through dexterous tips, they think back on the harrowing scene and how their breath had caught in their chest at the firing of the bullet and how their mind has flashed through their life and how they couldn’t stop thinking about Geralt and Geralt’s small smile that was private just for Jaskier and his arms around them while the city raced by outside and their bed and their home that they had made with Geralt—no, their home was Geralt— </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A trip to war-torn Redania was necessary for Jaskier to get the most coveted interview of the year; a local warlord only known as the Bloody Baron, who had deserted the Temerian army for the spoils offered by Nilfgaard. He and his men burned the villages, plundered the markets, raped the women, killed the men, and sold the children. He was despicable, a monster, the worst of the world. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And he wanted to be interviewed by Jaskier Pankratz of the Daily Planet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier had flown from Metinna to Tretogor to be met by a green photojournalist, Valdo, and not their normal contact, Thaler. The Baron’s men had picked them up, shoved dark hoods over their heads and driven through the barren wasteland decimated by the Niflgaardian siege.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They arrived at the Baron’s compound, Crow’s Perch, and Jaskier was presented to the heavy set man, eyes bloodshot and alcohol pouring off of his breath. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“They didn’t tell me that you were a dandy,” the Baron grumbles, split lip garbling their speech.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m a reporter, my Lord,” Jaskier replied, suppressing the urge to roll their eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who’s paying for these security contractors, my Lord?” Jaskier asks.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who pays for the spies that sneak into my home; the drones that pass overhead? One question begets another.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The Cintran government have declared their neutrality in the war between Nilfgaard and Redania, both in policy and in principle.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“These pious Cintran fictions spoken like truth. Men with power obey neither policy nor principle, Jaskier of Lettenhove. No one is different. No one is neutral.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cintran Intelligence Agency,” a thug behind Jaskier spits, causing them to turn their head and spot the guard standing over the prone body of Valdo, who clutches at the destroyed camera in front of him. The guard is holding a tracer, which he crushes between two fingers. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything immediately goes to shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” they breathed out as the last of the joint whittled down and burned the tips of calloused fingers. Ash fell over their hands as they reached to stub out the embers before sinking back against the cool porcelain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their eyes drift shut and they laze along the high of the weed and the calming embrace of the water. Distantly, they hear the tell tale whine of the door to the apartment being open and the deadbolt sealing the exit but they continue to drift in their dreamlike state until the opening of the bathroom door alerts them to another person inside of the home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt leans against the doorframe, brown paper bag of groceries in his hand with flowers sticking out of the top—pink lilacs and red salvia, honeysuckle and white jasmine, yarrow and red tulips— and smiles down at his fiancé. He’s wearing a blue henley with a dark cargo jacket shielding him against the cold. The haze of golden hour and the glow of the candles catch on his golden eyes and the heat of the room makes small droplets of sweat begin to catch along his hairline and jaw giving him an ethereal flush across his exposed skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he breathes and Jaskier can’t help but smile back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” they respond softly, clinking the bullet against the side of the bathtub and sinking further into the murky water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was gonna cook,” Geralt starts, gesturing towards the bag, “surprise you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows the lump in their throat and turns to their partner: “There was a hearing about what happened,” they start. “They’re saying—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care what they’re saying,” Geralt states, putting the bag down on the vanity and moving closer to Jaskier. “The person I love could’ve been hurt. Think about what could’ve happened—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think about what did happen! Geralt, witchers— they’re still, people still don’t—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know what people think of us,” Geralt scoffs, “they think that we’re monsters—"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The men in the village, they heard a noise, like the sky had cracked open.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And then he came down and there was fire. They attacked; no mercy in the villages. My parents tried to run but they— </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The world has been so caught up with what witchers can do, that no one has asked what they should do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let the record show that this committee holds witchers responsible--these so-called monster hunters of old answer to us.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They will never answer to you. I don’t even think they answer to God.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you didn’t kill those men, I’m saying I want to understand what happened, I’m saying thank you for saving my life. But there is a cost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt sinks to the floor near the bathtub, his fingers reaching for Jaskier’s hair and entangling between the soft wet strands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just don’t know if it’s possible,” they sigh, gripping Geralt’s wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hums and looks at Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For you to serve them and be you,” Jaskier says softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Their Geralt had a soft spot. All those years ago when they met in Posada, chasing after the same story and source (Filavandrel, a rogue government leader, who had stolen from the human governments to support his own people and other nonhumans across the Continent), Geralt had take in their bedraggled state, gaunt cheekbones and dark circles and sat them down in a corner booth in the tavern, supplying their belly with warm stew, a cold beer, and longing glances over eyelashes that dusted their cheekbones, freckles that made themselves more pronounced in the sun, blue eyes the color of the Pontar at midnight. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And then someone had approached the table asking for help with a devil and Geralt took in the look of mischief on Jaskier’s eyes and led them off to his vintage Range Rover with tan leather seats (that Jaskier would spill nearly every drink they had in the car on), driving them to find this devil. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What they found were starving elves, a quick witted Sylvan, and Filavandrel, haggard in appearance but not in spirit. Geralt had spared the coin that the villagers had given him, and Jaskier saw the soft spot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt wanted to help those who did not receive the help that they should. He had a good heart and even when it was trampled by humanity, Geralt still showed his soft underbelly, his care and love for people and what was right and just and Jaskier loved him even more for it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt smirks and stands reaching into the bag to pull out a single red tulip. He smiles down at the tulip before handing it to Jaskier. Jaskier takes the flower softly and twirls it between fingertips, looking up at their partner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt gets one of those secret smirks, the ones he only has for Jaskier and Jaskier tilts their head, wondering where Geralt is going with this but then the bathtub is suddenly filled with a whole Witcher, splashing the warm bathwater over the edges as Geralt climbs into the tub, boots, jeans, jacket and all, a devilish smirk across his features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sinks to his knees, straddling his partner, efficiently slipping out of the sopping wet cargo jacket which lands in a heap on the floor and then he leans forward right into Jaskier’s space, slightly chapped lips moulding against the reporter’s petal soft ones. Jaskier runs their hands down Geralt’s torso to the bottom of their shirt, peeling the drenched fabric up their lover’s body and whipping it out of the tub.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt grinds his jean covered erection down against Jaskier’s skin while Jaskier’s hands run circles over Geralt’s hair covered pecs and abdomen, mapping the scars and dips in musculature like they have one hundred times, following the trails of water with their eyes hungrily as they reach up for another searing kiss, full of bruising pressure and a slip of teeth a knick against supple flesh that leaves Jaskier gasping for air and more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt pulls their upper body against his, shuffling the reporter around the heated water, fingertips leaving frenzied paths along their flesh as they’re tucked into Geralt’s chest and pulled from the bathwater and the misery that they were drowning in. They stumble backwards out of the bathroom, leaving drips and puddles of softly scented water as they careen towards the bed occupying the next room. Geralt kicks off his boots as Jaskier lounges back against the cotton bedspread, watching with rapt attention as their partner removes their sodden jeans and underwear and all of the bodily glory hidden behind the ducile exterior of a nerdy, soft, shy reporter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt crawls up Jaskier’s body, engraving his body against theirs, twining their legs together, threading their fingers and fitting his where there is emptiness in theirs, becoming whole again, two parts of one soul, two people reaching out across the expanse of stars for one another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s body blooms for Geralt, legs spreading to accompany his battle hewn body, and when Geralt pushes into them, their heart opens and swallows Geralt whole. Their hands cup his face, then reach around, winding around their lover, holding him and his tender heart close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like a heavenly epiphany, like flying too close to the sun; rationally Jaskier knows they won’t survive this, that Geralt and all his goodness are too much for their fragile human heart, but as they become one, as their gasps meet his moans in a crescendoing, orchestral song, they know that they have merely only lived before meeting him, that now they thrive, and that if this ends in their death, then death will be beautiful, because what makes this life so sweet is that it will never come again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We, as a population on this planet, have been looking for a savior. Ninety percent of people believe in a higher power. And every religion believes in some sort messianic figure. And when these savior characters actually exist, we want to make them abide by our rules? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it really surprising that the most powerful people in the world should be figures of controversy?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fact is, maybe they’re not some sort of devil or Jesus characters. Maybe they’re just people trying to do the right thing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yeah this <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aBBYzgTdnU&amp;ab_channel=FlashbackFM">bathtub scene</a></p>
<p>will i write more? probably.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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